


The Greatest Pretenders

by LifeBeforeDeath10



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Canon Compliant, Comments and kudos feed the muse, EXCEPT FOR WHEN IT'S NOT, Gen, I feel like I'm not, I marked this as general because I don't think it's teen, Only because we don't know much about Hoid!, So I had to make up some stuff, but there's references to mental health since it's Shallan, minor (very VERY minor) ROW spoilers, what I'm the only person who cried in that scene in Oathbringer?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29915817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeBeforeDeath10/pseuds/LifeBeforeDeath10
Summary: '“No,” Wit said—but no, he realized, he must be Hoid for this conversation. Wit was the correct persona for a good many things (Hoid had created him specifically for Roshar, after all) but Hoid was one of his truer selves. Wit had a hard time taking things seriously.  “You’ve lived a harsher one, haven’t you?”Shallan's face looked more tired than a girl of her age’s face should. “Yet somehow, still a naïve one.”Hoid settled back. Wit was almost as good as Hoid at telling stories—almost.“Have you ever heard the tale of the Girl Who Looked Up?”'
Relationships: Shallan Davar & Hoid, Shallan Davar & Wit
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Greatest Pretenders

Wit found Shallan in a small shop. 

It was deserted, excluding the latter. There was blood on the floor, and the red stained Shallan’s white outfit. Her head was buried in her legs, her back against the wall. It looked like she hadn’t moved in hours. 

Wit had heard what had happened, and had punished those responsible. His sources in the city told him that he would find the mysterious “Swiftspren” here. 

The light from his sphere made dancing shadows in the room, which made it hard to see all of Shallan’s shifting illusions. They warped around her, and the eerie effect would have disturbed anyone else, but Wit had seen far too much to be afraid. 

He sat down across from Shallan and didn’t speak. The Investiture around her eventually settled. 

“I should have known better.” She said, raising her head, but not her eyes. 

“Perhaps.”

“Giving out so much food only draws predators. Foolish. I should have focused on the Oathgate.” 

Wit hesitated. “Again, perhaps.” 

“It’s so hard, Wit. When I wear Veil’s face… I… I have to think like her. Seeing the larger scope grows difficult when she takes over. And I _want_ her to take over, because she’s… not me.” Shallan’s voice grew thick, and she bowed her head again, fighting to take deep breaths. 

Wit let her compose herself before speaking. “The thieves who killed that child have been seen to.”

Not by any direct act by his hand. Ever since he had… changed, hurting people physically had grown difficult. He may have led things along, however, as he generally did. 

(Frost could go on about his non-intervention policy as much as he wished, but he couldn’t just watch another world burn.)

“When some of the men in the market heard what had happened,” He continued. “they finally formed the militia they had been talking about. They rushed the Grips, forcing them to give up the murderer, then disperse. I apologize for not acting sooner; I had been distracted by… other tasks. You’ll be pleased to know that some of the food you gave away was still in their base.” 

“Was it worth that boy’s life?” Shallan whispered, her eyes reflecting the shifting light of the sphere. 

Ah, the question that every human being had asked at some point or another.

“I cannot judge the worth of a life. I would not dare to attempt it.” 

“Muri said it would be better if I were dead.” 

A wry smile touched the corner of Wit’s face. “As _I_ lack the experience to decide the worth of a life, I sincerely doubt that she has somehow obtained it. You tried to help the people of the market. You mostly failed. This is life. The longer you live, the more you fail. Failure is the mark of a life well lived. In turn, the only way to live without failure is to be no use to anyone. Trust me, I’ve practiced.” 

Shards, when did Wit start sounding so wise? Frost _had_ been rubbing off on him.

Shallan looked away. “I… I have to become Veil to escape the memories, but I don’t have the experience that she pretends to have. I haven’t lived her life.” 

“No,” Wit said—but no, he realized, he must be Hoid for this conversation. Wit was the correct persona for a good many things (Hoid _had_ created him specifically for Roshar, after all) but Hoid was one of his truer selves. Wit had a hard time taking things seriously. “You’ve lived a harsher one, haven’t you?” 

Her face looked more tired than a girl of her age’s face should. “Yet somehow, still a naïve one.” 

Hoid settled back. Wit was almost as good as Hoid at telling stories—almost _._

“Have you ever heard the tale of the Girl Who Looked Up?”

She didn’t answer. Hoid took that as permission to continue.

“It’s a story from long ago.” He cupped his hands around the sphere on the floor, and the light went out like a flame extinguished.

“Things were different in that time,” He said, his voice bouncing off the thin walls in the room. “A wall kept out the storms, but everyone ignored it. All but one girl, who looked up one day, and contemplated it.”

He drew breath to continue but was stopped by Shallan’s whisper. “Why is there a wall?”

He smiled. “Ah, so you _do_ know it? Good.” He leaned down and blew softly on the dust. He closed his eyes and accessed his Yolish Lightweaving.

But, as it had been ever since he’d set foot on this planet, there was something… blocking it. The dust rose, as he had commanded it to do, and formed into the figure of a girl. The image wavered, and then collapsed.

_Shards._

He tried again, pushing against the strange block that prevented him. The dust swirled a little higher, and then fell again. “A little help?” He asked Shallan.

It was a good thing that the strange block of his Lightweaving didn’t seem to affect already-created illusions, otherwise his distinctive white hair would alert his _friends_ in the Seventeenth Shard of his whereabouts.

Shallan sighed, then opened her back and breathed in the Investiture—Stormlight, as it was called here. She spread her fingers, and the room changed.

Her power mixed with his—though to be fair it was mostly hers—and painted the room in the exact right way, all the angles lining up.

Hoid stood and surveyed the illusion that Shallan had made. A girl with dark hair stood, her white scarves fluttering in the wind, surveying an impossibly tall wall.

“Not bad.” He said appreciatively. “But it’s not nearly dark enough.”

“What?”

“I thought you knew the story.” Hoid tapped a bit of Investiture that hung in the air, and his senses nearly exploded from the feedback. With ease that came from decades of practice, he Weaved the scene, and a wave of darkness moved from the point of his touch. The scene turned from colorful and bright to monochrome and black.

“In these days, there was no light.”

“No light…”

“Of course, even without light, people still had to live, didn’t they?” He let himself be immersed in the story, even while putting his own spin on it.

“That’s what people do. I hasten to guess it’s the _first_ thing they learn how to do. So they lived in the darkness, farmed in the darkness, ate in the darkness.”

He waved his hand behind him, manipulating the Investiture. The people behind him felt their way to different activities, the only light coming from the feeble stars.

Since Shallan knew the story, he didn’t narrate the next part, instead letting their illusions tell it themselves. The girl asked several people why the wall was there, only getting the same answer: _don’t go beyond it, or you shall die._

“And so,” Hoid said once they finished. “The girl decided that the only way to get answers was to climb the wall herself.” He leaned backwards and glanced at Shallan. “Was she stupid or bold?”

She raised an eyebrow. “How should I know?”

Hoid sighed. People never understood that the best art was participatory.

“Wrong answer. She was both.”

Shallan looked offended on the girl’s behalf. “She _wasn’t_ stupid. If nobody asked questions, we would never learn anything.”

“What of the wisdom of her elders?”

“They offered no explanation for why she shouldn’t ask about the wall. No rationalization, no justification. There’s a difference between listening to your elders and being just as frightened as everyone else.”

Hoid smiled. The more he talked with Shallan, the more he saw different sides of her. She was a talented artist and was driven by her instincts, yet some part of her clearly longed for logic and cause-and-effect situations.

“Funny, isn’t it, how so many of our stories start the same way, but have opposing endings? In half, the child ignores her parents, wanders out into the woods, and gets eaten. In the other half she discovers great wonders. There aren’t many stories about the kids who say, ‘Yes, I shall not go into the forest. I’m glad my parents explained that is where the monsters live.”

Of course, that would make quite the boring tale, but that was beside the point. Shallan did not look to be quite in the mood for stimulating conversation.

“Is that what you’re trying to teach me, then?” She said, the bite in her words more at herself than him. “The fine distinction between choosing for yourself and ignoring good advice?”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I’m a terrible teacher.” First that Windrunner boy, and now Shallan. “Fortunately, I am an artist, not a teacher.”

“People learn things from art.” Shallan informed him.

Hoid outwardly feigned shock, though he smiled. _Good girl._

“Blasphemy! Art is not art if it has a purpose.”

Shallan rolled her eyes.

He called some of her Stormlight to him, and it created a spinning utensil. “Take this fork. It has a use: Eating. Now, if it were to be ornamented by a master artisan, would that change its function?” He made the fork grow intricate lines, with metal flowers growing out of the handle.

“No, of course not. It has the same use, ornamented or not. The _art_ is the part that serves no purpose.”

“It makes me happy, Wit. That’s a purpose.”

This time he did smile.

“Weren’t we in the middle of a story about a girl climbing a wall?” Shallan asked.

“Yes, but that part takes _ages.”_ He said. “I’m finding things to occupy us.”

“We could just skip the boring part.”

“Skip?” Hoid said, aghast. “ _Skip_ part of a _story_?” 

Shallan gave Hoid a scorning look and snapped her fingers. The illusion changed so that they were standing on top of a wall in the darkness. It was so realistic that Hoid almost looked down to see how far up they were. 

Shards, he hadn’t even _helped_ to create an illusion this extensive since—

But he redirected his thoughts away. He didn’t think about… that… anymore. Those memories were stored in his Breaths, anyway. But there was something about Shallan that brought back his past.

“You wound me,” said Hoid. “What happens next?”

“The girl finds _steps,_ ” said Shallan. “And the girl realizes that the wall wasn’t to keep something in, but to keep her and her people out.”

“Because?”

Shallan dropped her hand. “Because we’re monsters.” She said matter-of-factly, like it was a simple truth that everyone knew.

He stepped closer and put his arms around her, standing there on top of an illusory world. She trembled, her chest rising and falling erratically.

“You’re _not_ a monster, Shallan.” Hoid whispered. “Oh, child. The _world_ can be monstrous at times, and there are those who would have you believe you are terrible by association.”

Like his master, who had slapped him across the face when he had dared to ask a question—

_No._ He wrenched his mind back into the present, to this girl who needed him.

“I _am.”_ She insisted.

“No, you see, it flows the other direction. You are not worse for your association with the world. It is _better_ for its association with you.”

She pressed himself against him, shivering, though it was warm. “What do I do, Wit?” She whispered. “I know… I know I shouldn’t be in so much pain. I had to kill them. I _had_ to. But now I’ve said the oaths and I can’t ignore it anymore. So I should… I should just die too, for having done it…”

So that was how House Davar’s Brightlord and Brightness had been killed. Hoid had suspected, of course, but to hear it from her…

This child had seen far too much. He couldn’t blame her for trying to forget. It would be rather hypocritical of him.

No. Now he would let the story tell itself.

Hoid moved to the side, to where the girl looked out over the strange new world. “So you remember the rest of the tale?” He asked gently.

She shook her head, still lost in her own darkness. “It’s not important. We found the moral already. The wall kept people out.”

“Why?’

“Because…” She looked at him in confusion.

“Because beyond that wall,” Hoid said, pointing. “was God’s Light.”

With a movement that felt as easy and natural as raising an arm, he made the illusion explode with light. The girl saw the real sun for the first time, saw the world in all its colors.

“She climbed down the steps,” Shallan said in a shaking voice. “She hid among the creatures who lived on this side. She sneaked up to the Light and she brought it back with her. To the other side. To the… to the land of shadows…”

“Yes indeed,” said Hoid, watching the scene play out. Did a playwright refrain from watching the performance simply because he knew what the actors would do?

Of course not. He would watch and enjoy, along with the audience.

The girl broke off a piece of the light and ran, with all the forces on the other side combining to prevent her ascent. She climbed the steps frantically, and her descent was just as crazed. But finally, the village had light, boiling over along with the storms.

“The people suffered,” said Hoid. “but each storm brought light renewed, for it could never be put back now that it had been taken. And people, for all their hardship, would never choose to go back. Not now that they could see.”

The story was over, and the illusion faded, like all things that had done what it had accomplished.

Shallan pulled back, looking as if she had awoken from a fitful sleep.

“Do you wish,” Hoid asked. “that you could go back to not being able to see?”

“No…”

“Then live, and let your failures be part of you.”

She almost smiled at him. “That sounds… that sounds an awful lot like a moral, Wit. Like you’re trying to do something _useful._ ” He laughed inwardly.

If only she knew.

“Well, as I said, we all fail now and then.” He stood.

That had worked rather well. It appeared that the strange block on _his_ Lightweaving did nothing against using someone else’s.

And while the story was over, he wasn’t done here yet.

He swept his hands to the side, pulling the Stormlight that curled in wisps around Shallan away. Three identical versions of her formed, standing in a line. If they were solid, the small room would have felt quite crowded.

“Wit…”

“Hush.” He tapped the first illusion. “A lot has happened to this poor girl, hasn’t it?”

“Many people have suffered more and they got along fine.”

Hoid frowned.

“Fine?”

She shrugged, closing her eyes.

The illusion that he had touched gasped and backed into the wall, pulling her arms into herself.

Poor fool,” Shallan whispered. “Everything she tries only makes the world worse. She was broken by her father, and then broke herself in turn. She’s worthless, Wit. It’s not really her fault, but she’s worthless anyway.” 

The familiarity of those words sent a wave of cold through him as he was forced to face a reality that he had been shying from. The reason his memories were stronger when he was with Shallan, the reason he had spent so much time telling her a story that she already knew.

Shallan reminded Hoid of himself, and that scared him.

Not many things did that anymore.

And, speaking truthfully, Hoid was a coward. Meeting someone who was so familiar made fear rise inside of him.

But though what he really wanted to do was run in the other direction, he stayed. Because this girl needed him. 

He grunted and moved down the line of illusions. “And this one?” 

“No different,” said Shallan, her lips turning downward in a scowl. She tapped her finger tiredly, and the illusion of herself, instead of crumpling like she clearly expected it to, stood up straighter. 

Hoid felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, I see. No different.” 

Shallan—the _real_ Shallan—narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing to my illusions?” 

“Nothing. They’re the same in every detail.” Which wasn’t strictly true, but this was Shallan who was doing this, technically. They _were_ the same.

“Of course they’re not.” Shallan tapped the illusion.

Suddenly she gasped, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burned.

“It’s terrible,” said Wit quietly. “to have been hurt. It’s unfair, and awful, and horrible. But Shallan… it’s okay to move on.”

She shook her head, turning away.

“The other minds take over because they look so much more appealing.” Now he wasn’t looking at her. He couldn’t bring himself to. “You’ll never control them until you’re confident in returning to the one who birthed them. Until _you_ accept being _you._ ”

“Then I’ll never control it.”

“No.” He nodded at the version of her that still stood. “You will. If you do not trust yourself, can you trust me? For in you I see a woman more wonderful than any of the lies. I promise you, that woman _is_ worth protecting. _You_ are worth protecting.”

“I can’t be her. It’s just another fabrication.”

He let the Investiture stream back into Shallan, and the versions of her vanished, one by one. “I see only one woman here, and it’s the one standing up. Shallan, that has always been you. You just have to admit it. Allow it.”

  
He met her eyes. “It’s all right to hurt.” He pulled out Shallan’s hat from his pack and handed it to her. She took it, taking in the light that peeked in from outside the door.

She met his gaze, her eyes desperate. “Wit, I can’t do it.”

“There are certain things I know, Shallan. This is one of them. You _can_. Find the balance.”

Memories flashed through Hoid’s mind. An entire world burning, his sister falling into the flames, her hand reaching out to his, and that _ache_ that he still couldn’t really banish, the pain of knowing that there was no home for him to return to—

“Accept the pain,” Hoid whispered. “But don’t accept that you deserved it.” 

Shallan stared at him, her haunted eyes searching his face. Clever child. She could see it, how he was letting his layers drop. She knew. Later, she would likely wonder what she had seen in him. 

Hoid could count the beings he trusted on one hand—he had lived too long for anything more. And perhaps he had lived through too much of the Cosmere to grow kinder, but _Shards_ …

He glanced away, and out of habit, fell back into Wit, like he had that day in the inn.

Authenticity was all well and good, and he had learned important things today, but Shallan now had all she needed.

Wit clipped his bag shut and rolled his shoulders back.

There was a reason there was so few people he could trust, after all. 

It was time to end this. His Fortune sent a kind of buzz through him—there was somewhere he needed to be. This city was thrumming with so many opportunities it sometimes felt like he was being twisted in half. 

He took one last look at the girl, who was wiping her tears away hastily. He smiled. 

With a few steps into the light, the King’s Wit disappeared into the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this comes from Bastille's song _Get Home _(if you've read any of my other works you'll know that I like their music a whole lot). I won't list out the lyrics to you, but if you want to listen to it, that song makes a lot of sense when paired with this fic.__
> 
> _  
> _I hoped you enjoyed this interpration of the chapter The Girl Who Looked Up from Oathbringer, and that it didn't feel too repetitive. I tried to give it my--and by extension, Hoid's--own spin on it. The interpretation of Hoid seeing Wit as a whole different persona, sort of like Shallan and Veil, was largely what inspired me to write this scene from a different perspective. As well as the fact of Hoid knowing how to control different personas... *suspicious glance in Sanderson's direction*_  
>  _
> 
> _  
> _Anyway!_  
>  _
> 
> _  
> _Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll drop a comment of what you thought :D_  
>  _
> 
> _  
> _Life Before Death, Radiants._  
>  _


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